Never Enough
by jstbecause
Summary: Dean wishes he could stop thinking about Castiel. Warning: explicit M/M content


Dean's eyes scan around the cheap motel room and notices how pathetic it is. The wallpaper is tattered and out-dated, slowly but surely peeling off of the walls. The sheets on the bed are loosely tucked under the mattress and possess a suspicious color Dean doesn't want to think about. He notices how the paint on window sill is chipping away and the curtains hold a dusty shade of white. The place looks as though it isn't tended to on a regular basis. The air is thick and stale with remnants of travelers just like him who stumbled into the very same room. Dean shutters at the thought of the room's history. In his mind, they are faceless people with no names that came to a shady motel room to do things they were too ashamed of in their everyday lives. But if Dean were honest with himself, the truth is that these strangers with no names and no faces, and shitloads of shame, were a lot like him.

There was a sudden burst of dialogue spoken but Dean was too caught up in his own thoughts to catch any of it.

"What?" Dean asked.

"I said," The man stood from the bed and walked over to face Dean. "If you were so interested in admiring the way the room looked, we could've gotten the deluxe room. Maybe the honeymooners one with the mirrors on the ceiling?" The man smirked and Dean quirked an eyebrow at him. Does that crap really work on people?

"No, man this is uhm, fine." Dean chucked nervously. "Can we just do this already? I don't really need any sweet-talk."

The guy took a step back, almost defeated by the fact that his cheesy joke didn't affect Dean in the slightest.

"Whatever you say, you're the showrunner here." The man walks back towards the bed and climbs on top of the sheets. He situates himself so that he is sitting on his folded legs. Without words, he motions to Dean to come join him on the bed.

Dean removes his jacket gradually and places it on the dresser beside him. He makes his way over to the bed and sits down next to the man. He shares a brisk glance with the man before removing his shoes and shirt but still leaving his t-shirt and pants to remain.

With his legs still folded and sitting intensely close to Dean, the man brings his pale-red lips close to Dean's ear and starts nipping at the skin. He works his way around his ear and down Dean's neck, sucking on the freckled patch of skin, leaving it faintly bruised. Dean moans in response to this, eyes slightly drifting back and mouth falling agape. The man's puckered mouth detaches from Dean's neck and move onto Dean's parted lips. He dips into Dean's mouth gently at first. But as they both get used to the sensation, the kiss becomes more dramatic, their tongues colliding continuously and fiercely. Even at the awkward angle, Dean has to applaud the guy for being a damned good kisser. Dean palms the front of his tightly growing jeans and breaks the kiss.

"Come on." Dean mumbles almost incoherently as he uses his upper body to push further onto the bed, feet leaving the ground completely and the other man quickly follows. He lies flat on his back with the man looming over him. Neither men have time to catch their breaths because Dean brings both hands to the man's face, pulling him into another kiss. They kiss sloppily and inconsistently, the man licking down into Dean's mouth and Dean biting the man's lip on occasion. It's messy, but it's good. And Dean can't help but whimper as the man finds that place on his neck again. He mouths at Dean's collarbone as he hums languidly. But now Dean's pulling away again and he can't turn off his thoughts.

He uses the moment to stare up at the man with beaming blue eyes filled to the brim with lust. His jet black hair a lot messier than earlier. The man's slender body seems to slot together with Dean's effortlessly. And Dean wonders what an odd coincidence it is that he has ended up in a shabby motel with some look-alike that doesn't even come close to the original. What are the odds that Dean went out looking to forget a certain person and ends up in bed with some sorry replica? But Dean knows how he got here. He knows what he's doing. It isn't a coincidence at all. But he's hoping some sorry replica is better than not being able to have the original.

"What?" The man finally asks and takes Dean out of his thoughts.

Dean reaches down into the pocket of his jeans to fetch a condom and small bottle of lube. He places it in the other man's hand.

"Here. No more foreplay, I can't wait anymore." Dean breaks from between the man's cage-like clasp and fixes himself so that he's on his hands and knees. He struggles with the button in front of his jeans before finally getting both the zipper and button undone. Dean pushes down his jeans and underwear so that they rest at the back of his folded knees. Dean knows it's a bit odd that he's still fully clothed, but he doesn't plan on staying very long and he isn't letting his skin touch these blankets more than necessary.

"You do know how to use that stuff don't you?" He asks impatiently waiting for the man to make a move. He turns his head uncomfortably and sees the man fumbling with the bottle and watches as he adds a generous amount of lube onto his fingers.

The man brings one hand to Dean's hip and uses his other slicked hand to press one digit inside of him. Dean twitches anxiously as he tries to stay in one place and lets out a low huff of air. The burn of the finger making it's way past the first ring of his muscles is invasive but bearable. The man works his one finger into Dean tenderly, pushing in and out with ease. Then he adds a second digit to accommodate the single one and the feeling makes Dean's breath hitch, coming out in short lengths. Dean whimpers and fists the dingy sheets as the pain subsides and pleasure takes its place. When a third finger is added Dean finds it hard to contain himself. The man is three knuckles deep inside of Dean, scissoring him open, and finally Dean has had enough.

"Okay, fuck, I'm good. Come on." He urges on and Dean can hear the other man working his pants open and sliding the condom onto his member. He grips Dean by the sides of his hips and positions himself with Dean's hole. He presses in teasingly slow with a low groan and the grip around Dean's hips tightens. He waits for Dean's body to adjust to him, but Dean is all to eager for things to be this gentle. It's too gentle and not enough vigor. Dean presses himself back onto the man's cock to express his impatience.

"You won't break me, shit, just do it." Dean assures him.

The man removes one hand from Dean's side and brings it to his shoulder, pushing his body into Dean's forcibly. Dean jerks forward at the sudden motion and bites his lower lip. The man's thrusting into him harder but still a little too slowly. Almost as if he read Dean's mind, the man picks up the pace. An unexpected noise leaves Dean as the man's hand leaves his shoulder and inches it's way down his spine. Within a few more thrusts their bodies are working in an accommodating language. Dean meets every thrust with a forceful push back until the man's cock collides with Dean's prostate and leaves him helpless. The sensation sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure through Dean's body to the point where Dean can't tell them apart anymore.

Dean gives up on his wobbly arms and lands face first into the pillow, weakly trying to meet every thrust. The man on top of him spews out obscenities about how tight Dean is and how fucking amazing it feels. Dean understands how people say things in the heat of the moment, but Dean doesn't need to hear that. He just wishes the guy would shut the hell up.

"Uhh shit." He grits out when the man clashes with his prostate again.

Dean musters up the strength to bring his head from the pillow. But no matter how hard this guy is fucking into him he can't clear his mind of blue eyes and a stupid trench coat. Even as the thrusts become more urgent and desperate, Dean can't help but see one face in particular in his mind.

All he can see is Castiel's unkempt black hair. And furrow in his eyebrow whenever he's thinking too much. He always looks so stoic and unmoved but Dean thinks of the first time he actually made Castiel laugh. The smile plastered on Castiel's face was completely out of his character but Dean felt accomplished because he'd put the smile there. He'd made his angel laugh. He can't stop thinking about the angel's mildly cracked lips and how on more than one occasion he'd wanted to lean over and kiss them.

Then Dean remembers the scramble of panic those eyes went into when Dean told him that he loved him and wanted to be with him. And Dean wonders what it would have been like, if Castiel said he loved him back.

_I'm sorry Dean_

He can't forget those words and how it's not the first time he's heard them but how they had such a crippling affect this time around. No matter what he does Dean can't get the angel's fucking face, his fucking everything out of his head.

_I do not share the feelings you have for me. _

"Cas.." Dean groans.

He buries his head into the pillow and shamefully whines the name. He takes a fistful of sheets in each hands as his untouched cock empties itself onto the blanket beneath him. And he'll deny to his dying day that there are tears falling from his eyes and landing on the pillow. Just a few moments later the other man is sent over the edge and comes with a shout. The man's thrust lose force as he graduals stops pushing into Dean and falls onto Dean's backside, softening cock still inside him. They both remain still catching their breaths and sweating profusely. He brings his head out of the pillow and uses a free hand to sweep over his face.

Dean hates this part. The part after sex is the worst. Because for him, sex always starts off with burning lust and desire that fuels his libido until the very end. But after, when it's all said and done, and the aftershocks of his orgasm wear off, he's left with the underlying feeling of shame again. Everything he wanted to escape with a one night stand or random hook-up comes crashing back to him in a wave of sorrow.

Dean nudges the man off of him and he falls to the other side of the bed.

"Move." Dean orders.

The other man lifts most of his weight from the bed just enough so Dean can ball up the come stained sheets from under him and push them to the side. He rolls onto his back and pulls into his jeans, realizing it's easier to get into them than it was to get out of them. He uses the strength of his arms and legs to snake down to the edge of the bed. When he reaches the end, Dean plants his feet onto the carpeted area where his shoes lie and starts to put them on.

"Shit that was good. You've got a sweet ass dude." The man says with Dean's back facing to him. Dean cringes at his words and focuses on lacing his boots. "You ever think of doing this professionally? I know a lot of guys who'd happily pay to have you." Dean snorts as he finishes up the last lace on his left boot and rises to his feet. He walks towards the dresser where he left his jacket to retrieve something from his pocket. He looks over at the satisfied man sprawled across the bed.

"You mean as a prostitute? No thanks man. I've still got some self-respect and I'd have to be in a pretty dark place to go there." He grabs a wad of cash from his pocket and tosses it over to the man. "No offense."

"None taken." The man says as he catches the money and smiles lazily up at Dean.

Dean slides swiftly into his jacket and turns to reach for the door handle.

"Thanks again.." He says reluctantly before walking out the door. He clicks the door shut behind him and his hands migrate to his pockets, feeling for his keys.

Okay, so maybe Castiel didn't love him. Maybe the idea of being in a relationship with Dean completely horrified him. And maybe Dean was more crushed by that fact than he led on. But who was he to sit around and sulk about rejection? Why had he fallen for the socially awkward angel with the stick up his ass in the first place? He wasn't going to whine and dwell and have everyone take pity on him. 'Aw, poor lovesick Dean.' Fuck that. He was going to go out and hunt monsters with his brother and save people like he always did. He was going to do his damn job. He'd get drunk off whiskey and eat as many cheeseburgers he could and fuck anyone he wanted. And next time he wouldn't have to pay for it if he didn't want to. He wouldn't go searching for another carbon-copy of Castiel. If Castiel didn't want to be with Dean, then screw him. Because Dean could have anyone else he wanted and that was enough.

But as he stepped out into the cold night air toward the parking lot where he left his baby, Dean knew that it was never going to be enough.


End file.
